Why I will never be a pastry chef...

Let's talk about my worst day since I've come to study at Cordon Bleu.

It all started when I was assigned to be the assistant who transports all the needed ingredients for the day from the pantry to our kitchen. Because I spent so much time setting up, I got off to a late start. I was hurrying to keep up as I was the last one to get each part of the cake done, of which there were 5. First, a sponge cake which we would make a 60 x 40 cm sheet of, yet only use
a thin strip of 60 x 3 cm. Then there was another crunchier coconut sponge cake. Then two mousses -- passion fruit & raspberry. Then the raspberry glaze to top it off.

The chef that was overseeing us had only worked with us in one other practical, in which I had a minor mishap and so he already thought of me as the straggler of the group. So seeing me struggle to get everything done no doubt solidified his notion. Just as I was catching up to everyone, I went to put the almost finished cake (just the glaze needed to be poured on), in the freezer to allow the mousse to set. As I bent down to put my cake and a fellow student's cake in the freezer, the tray tilted and a cake slipped off the edge and fell to the ground. At first thought, I was somewhat relieved that it was my cake, but then realized that I had dropped another student's cake! In my sudden panic at how I would tell the girl that I dropped her cake, tears weld up in my eyes. I told her the news and after seeing how I looked, visibly upset about it, she was really nice and said "Don't worry. Things like this happen." As I cleaned the cake off the floor, I shed a couple tears and then got it together to help her redo the cake.

The chef was not present when I dropped the cake and a student went to inform him what had occurred. They were all the way across the room, but I heard the student answer when asked who did it, "Vaishali." I turned around when I heard my name and saw the look on the chef's face. It was an "oh...figures" type of look. I just wanted to run out of the room at that point.

After the initial panic, all I really could say to myself was, "Thank god I plan to be an astrophysicist and not a pastry chef."

Daft Punk -- the only worthwhile contribution.

The first time I realized that I liked London better than Paris was when I was on the Tube in London for the first time since I'd moved to Paris. I hadn't talked to anyone since I landed in London, so it wasn't the simplicity of using English to communicate, but something else that made me feel more comfortable in London. I realized much later that the reason I had this thought in the Tube was because my experiences in the Paris Metro are a good telling of my experiences in Paris as a whole.

I had always noticed that people looked at me in the Metro, but it never really bothered me. This was probably because I was initially looking at people too, being in a new city with new fashions to digest :-). But after a while, it's just odd that everyone is staring at me. Today, I was sitting in the train and a girl was staring at me throughout all 8 stops we were on the train together. Every time I looked in her direction, I'd catch her looking at me. And when I did, she wouldn't even smile to acknowledge my presence. Which brings me to point number 2. Oh before I get to that, Parisians don't like their gym clothes. They also don't like working out. I get stared at even more (if that was even possible) in the Metro in my gym clothes. Even when jogging on the street in them, people stop to see the girl running in Paris. Apparently, skinny French girls don't go running to keep their figures.

Although I sit here complaining about people staring at me, I've done a decent amount of people watching myself. Other than the fact that every French girl is skinny, they also never smile. As in, I really don't think I've ever seen a French girl smile. Maybe it's justified to not smile alone in the train (although I definitely do smile to myself), but even when they're with their significant other, being unnecessarily romantic, I still haven't caught them smiling!

I think this bit about not smiling somewhat explains the overall feeling I've been having about Paris. Although the city is gorgeous without a doubt, and I've never had anyone be blatantly rude to me (something many people have told me they've experienced in Paris), I don't feel any warmth from the people. It's really hard to explain but it's the overall feel of the city that makes me realize that I cannot assimilate into this society not because of my decision, but out of their decision.

I'm starting to think that Paris' only worthwhile contribution to my life is Daft Punk. Actually, Paris' only contribution to the world -- Daft Punk.

Yes, chef. Oui, chef.

Disclaimer: The cake in the picture is made by my chef, not me. Although mine did look remarkably similar to that one, except it was circular.




There are a couple things that have made this term different than my last one--some more obvious than others. In terms of the dishes we've been making, this term I actually like them. This can be viewed in a positive and negative light. Negative obviously being that I have no control over eating the cake or whatever it may be when I bring it home. But the positive is not only that I get to enjoy it. I've realized that when it's a dish that I am really excited about, I really put in a lot of effort to get it right. For example, the other day we made a triple chocolate mousse cake. It was basically a sponge cake base, with a layer of dark chocolate mousse, then a layer of milk chocolate mousse, and then white chocolate. You then top it off with a shiny layer of dark chocolate glaze, and use white chocolate to pipe a nice design on it. (I can just hear some of you salivating...oh right, it's just me.) Anyway, everything was going fine, the mousse was pouring in smoothly, until the glaze. It's important to have the glaze at the right consistency and temperature so that it pours on in a smooth, thin layer. I asked the chef if the consistency was right, and he said yes, but as I poured it with him watching, it was evident that the layer was a little thick and clumpy. Apparently my consistency was fine, but the temperature was too cold. I was so mad about it! But then when the cake was taken out of the ring, turned out my layers of mousse were perfect! Each layer was the same thickness all around. To me, it seemed obvious that you would get your mousse to the right temperature so it pours in and levels itself off, but some people had their mousse too thick so they actually had to spread it in the pan, meaning some sides were higher than others. To rectify the uneven glaze, I used my piping to make the top busy looking to detract from the unevenness of the layer.

Second thing that's different is that I'm a lot more comfortable in the kitchen now than I was last term. I remember that in London, a 3 hour class would barely be enough time to finish whatever it is we were assigned. In Paris, I've usually been relaxedly getting the job done, without feeling like an absolute wreck. It's hard to believe for me, but I guess it's just that I've learned so much that I'm finally comfortable in the kitchen.

Then clearly, there's the obvious difference of language. Instead of saying, "Yes, chef!", we say "Oui, chef!" Speaking of which, my last post about Gordon Ramsay got me thinking of why people found him to be a complete jerk. Other than the obvious rudeness, I think it really bothers people that he makes everyone respond to him by saying, "Yes, chef!" It makes people wonder, "Who the hell does he think he is?" that everyone has to defer to him and blindly yell "Yes, chef!" to whatever his ridiculous orders are. But us students do it all the time in school. When the chef gives directions, in unison we yell, "Oui, chef!" If we don't respond, he'll say it himself, "Oui, chef?", to remind us to say it. It's just a sign of respect that has become not only a tradition but imperative in designating hierarchy and a chef's importance and position in a kitchen. My respect and awe of chefs has really made me come to appreciate this military-like chain of command.